Bramble
by Chamelaucium
Summary: When Sam finds a kitten stuck in a bush on his way to work and rescues it, never does he imagine the consequences such a simple action could have...
1. Chapter 1

The sun shone brightly down; the summer morning, despite its earliness, already full of the promise of a hot day. The hedges that lined The Row were heady with the scent of honeysuckle and wild garlic. A lone figure ambled along the lane, the only person to be up and about at this hour.

Samwise Gamgee was lost in thought as he made his way up to Bag End. He was early, for he did not start work for another hour, but in truth he loved Bag End more than he loved his own home.

_And not just for the gardens,_ a voice in his head spoke up unbidden. He pushed the thought aside. If there was one thing he knew, it was his place; and thinking thoughts like those that were following – _the master, his raven hair roguishly rumpled, still bleary-eyed from sleep_ – well, they were not entirely appropriate.

Deep in thought as he was, Sam was brought to his senses by a yowling sound, like that of a bairn but slightly more unearthly. It gave him the shivers. He looked around, trying to find the source of the noise… then he saw it. Sam's face softened as he beheld a bundle of fur poking out from under the hedge. He knelt down to get a closer look; a pair of green eyes glittered back at him. The creature then let out another plaintive cry, pitiful enough to rend even the hardest of hearts. Sam grinned and crawled closer.

'Hey there, Kitty,' he cooed, stretching a hand out. For cat it was; a tiny black and white kitten no larger than his hand. It looked at him as he made soft coaxing noises, but made no move. However it evidently found him nonthreatening enough, as it nosed his hand and let out a little mew.

'Tha's right, come here, littl'un,' he soothed. When the cat merely looked at him, he understood. Its leg was caught in the brambles. Ever so gently, he extracted the brambles from the kitten, ignoring the great yowl it let out, louder than one would have thought possible, given its size. Eventually it was free, and he scooped the kitten up carefully to his chest, where it snuggled happily against the warmth, grateful to be released from its prison of thorns. It rubbed its face against his hand and mewed. Samwise Gamgee was in his element – if there was one thing he understood better than plants, it was animals.

'Alright, now, fluffy? Let's get ye to Bag End. Mr Frodo'll help me fix you right up!' With that, he cradled the kitten close and continued up the path.


	2. Chapter 2

Frodo Baggins awoke to find the sun streaming in through his window and his bed sheets twisted up around him. He ran a hand through his curly black hair. That dream had been so strange, something to do with Sam, a barrel of pipeweed and smoke rings dancing and flickering in a firelighted room… He shook his head. Samwise Gamgee had been occupying his thoughts too much of late.

Frodo yawned and stretched, and made ready to get up. As he did so, he heard again what must have woken him: a snippet of song. He tensed – there was only him in the smial, since Bilbo left – but then relaxed as he recognised the voice. Sam.

Pots were banging in the kitchen, and he heard cupboard doors being opened. He heard Sam talking to someone. Now thoroughly confused, Frodo hauled himself out of bed, pulled on his robe and went to find out what was going on in his kitchen.

Whatever he had been expecting, it was not the sight that met his eyes as he walked in. He _thought_ he would find Sam making breakfast, teapot on the stove and pans filled with food on the fire; what he _found_ was a pile of blankets on the kitchen table and the entire medicine collection scattered around the various countertops. The other participant of Sam's conversation was not immediately clear, and Frodo wondered if perhaps his gardener hadn't been spending too much time out in the sun – indeed, Sam's face _was_ looking enticingly flushed, he noticed – but then Sam made a crooning noise at the pile of blankets, and Frodo saw the focus of Sam's attention – the tiny kitten. Even Frodo couldn't help kissing softly at the little ball of fur, as he walked across the kitchen to get a closer look. At the noise, Sam's head shot up, and when he saw Frodo he promptly turned an even brighter shade of beetroot and dropped the glass jar he was holding.

'Oh – Mr Frodo sir – I'm so sorry – oh, sir… Right ninnyhammer I am sir, me Gaffer's said it many a time, that I can't do naught without breaking summat –'

Frodo smiled and cut off Sam's tirade of self-deprecating comments.

'Sam, its fine, really! Don't worry. I startled you. Sam – I…' he stopped as he realised Sam was refusing to look at him. Frodo uttered a soft sigh and turned to get the broom. He made to start clearing the shards of glass but Sam took it from him and muttered, 'no sir, I'll do it, 'tis me own fault…'

Frodo released the broom reluctantly, and turned to the sink to wet a cloth.

'So Sam, tell me, what is a cat doing in my kitchen? And why in all of Middle-Earth is my medicine collection out?' he laughed.

Sam looked at him and mumbled something unintelligible.

'Sam, you'll have to speak up! I'm not a lip-reader! And Sam – you're not in trouble, you know,' Frodo said, half exasperated and half stifling back a laugh at the situation.

Still scarlet, Sam explained how he'd found the cat under the hedge and was in the process of finding the ointment to treat the kitten's leg when Mr Frodo had entered and… after an awkward pause, Sam continued.

'The cuts aren't too bad, but mighty painful, I'd expect, poor mite,' he explained, his voice full of sympathy. He remembered only too well the countless times he'd got his own arms caught in the rosebushes as he pruned them.

'Well Sam, anything you need, anything I can do to help – I'm here,' Frodo replied warmly. This was what he loved about Sam – his care and attention to everything, from the smallest animal to mightiest oak.

At Sam's answering grateful smile, looking directly into Frodo's eyes for the first time that day, Frodo's stomach did a little flip. What _wouldn't_ he offer, just to have Sam look at him like that…

Snapping back to reality, Frodo finished wiping the salve off the floor and put the used cloth in the sink. He turned to Sam.

'What next? Can I do anything?'

'Well sir, I've cleaned the cuts; now it's just a matter of applying the ointment. I were doin' that when, er, you came in and I, er…' he blushed.

'Sam, you can forget about that! No point crying over… well, crying over spilt ointment!' Frodo laughed. It was really not a big deal, and he wished Sam would see that and return to his usual sunny self. He picked up another jar of the medicinal salve and handed it to Sam.

'Aye sir, I reckon that's true an' all,' Sam said a little gruffly, but a smile was playing on his lips. He took the proffered jar, paused, and then handed it back to Frodo.

'Do you want to apply it, sir? She's awful friendly, and don't bite…'

Frodo accepted the jar back and smiled at Sam. He turned to the kitten, and scooped a little salve onto his finger. He dabbed gently at the wounds, talking as he did so.

'So our little friend here is a she? Come to think of it, it is a rather feminine face she's got, isn't –'

He stopped as Sam's large hand, warm and calloused from time spent outdoors, enveloped his own pale one, scholarly and elegant. Well, everyone told him his hands were elegant; he rather thought them spindly and thin.

At Sam's touch, Frodo felt himself blushing as red as Sam had earlier. He tried to continue, but… being this close to Sam was truly distracting; his stomach was lurching and swooping, he felt…

'Sam, you take over! You're much better than I!' Frodo pulled out from Sam's grip and tried to laugh. He was feeling hot and bothered, and his muscles were clenched and tight and… oh. _Oh_. Suddenly his robe was not adequate cover.

'Would you look at the time? How late it is and me not even dressed! I really am turning into the slovenly hobbit Bilbo used to call me! Then a cup of tea, yes…' he babbled on as he scurried out of the kitchen. Once in the safety of his bedroom, he took a few shuddering breaths. He couldn't let himself carry on like this. Strengthening his resolve, he ignored the feeling he was currently experiencing elsewhere, and pulled on some clothes.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam stared after Mr Frodo as he spluttered and a stream of speech escaped incoherently from his lips (_deliciously plump and kissable_, that voice interjected) and he ran from the room. Sam couldn't help but think that it was his fault his master had run out of the room faster than a fox from the hounds – had he done something wrong?

_Well, o' course ye did, _Sam chided himself sternly_. Ye only went and dropped all his ointment on the floor. A whole jar!_ Sam felt the shame welling up inside him, along with the sadness he felt at having displeased Frodo. However, the more he thought about it – as he continued applying ointment to the kitten's fur (who was purring with contentment) – the more he reached the conclusion that it wasn't _entirely _his fault. Mr Frodo _had_ startled him, that much was true, but as much as that it was also the lack of clothes Sam knew was under the robe, and the little zing of electricity that had bolted through his body, and the dangerous thoughts that accompanied it…

Even now, Sam was still blushing. Shaking his head, he sighed and continued to take care of the kitten, tickling her under the chin and allowing her to chase his finger as he waved it in the air above her little pink nose.

When Frodo returned, he was fully dressed and looking calm and composed. He flashed Sam a quick smile as he entered the kitchen.

'Sorry about that, Sam, I don't quite know…'

'Naught to worry about, sir,' Sam replied cheerfully. He could sense his master didn't really want to explain what had happened. And he wouldn't go getting ideas above his place and ask him. To save an awkward situation, he busied himself with putting all the jars back in the cupboard and clearing everything away. The kitten was engrossed with one of the tassels on the blanket, chasing and batting it like a mouse. Both hobbits smiled at the endearing sight.

Then Sam coughed, and mumbled something about getting back to work.

Frodo came out of his reverie and looked at Sam. After this eventful morning, was he really going to just pretend as if everything was normal? Well, it wasn't normal, was it? Annoyance flashed through Frodo's mind, not for the first time, at Sam's constantly humble and often self-deprecating manner. Sweet Eru, today he wanted to spend time with his friend. He's been so alone since Bilbo had left, and Sam had always been there but only ever in the background. Today though, Frodo wanted it to be different.

'But Sam,' he said lightly, 'what am I meant to do about the cat? She can't stay here all day, and I'm no good with animals.'

'Nonsense, Mr Frodo –' Sam made to reply, but Frodo cut him off.

'Sam, you don't have to humour me. You know I'm best with pen and paper, inanimate objects as they are…' he trailed off, but when Sam didn't make eye contact, he continued. 'anyway Sam, I think the garden can survive for one day without you. You can always water the plants just before you go home,' he reasoned, hoping to appeal to Sam's logical side.

'Well sir, it's not me as'd mind too much, see, but me Gaffer…'

'We don't have to tell the Gaffer,' Frodo said firmly. 'It can be our secret.' His throat tightened on the word. He desperately wanted Sam to agree, to say yes to just spending time with him…

'Well, sir, if you're sure…' Sam sounded anything but.

'Yes, Sam, I am! Let's take – wait, we must give kitty here a name. I shan't go around calling her Cat for the rest of the day.'

'No, s'pose you're right, Mr Frodo… let's see… I'd thought perhaps I'd like to call her Bramble, seeing as 'ow I found her all caught up in the bramble bush.'

'Sam, it's lovely. Bramble it is!' Frodo said, rewarding Sam with a grin that showed off his perfect white teeth.

'Let's take Bramble to the study,' he continued, 'and how about I read to you while we keep an eye on her, Sam? I received another volume of Elvish tales the other day, and I know how fond of elves you are…'

Sam smiled back, and nodded his agreement. He sucked his cheeks in gently, and exhaled. Maybe good deeds did pay off… silently he thanked Eru for sending him that poor injured kitten. The day was turning out to be even better than he could have hoped for. He followed Frodo into the study, a smile playing on his lips.


	4. Chapter 4

Frodo rummaged around at his desk, trying to locate the book. He'd had it here, yesterday evening… Ah yes, here it was.

He straightened and turned to Sam, who was standing by the door cradling Bramble. The cat was pawing at one of Sam's long, honey curls, batting at it. Frodo laughed at the sight.

'You can sit, you know Sam,' he commented drily, knowing full well that Sam would stand there until told he could sit, even if his legs gave out beneath him. Sam settled on the floor.

'On a sofa, Sam!' Frodo laughed! 'Please, just forget about being my gardener, for today, and focus on being my friend. Please, Sam. I do consider you a friend, and a very dear one at that.' Frodo stopped before he said anything else. Who knew what his tongue would say, if he let it?

Sam looked at him, and relocated to the sofa farthest from the one Frodo was sitting on. There was no fire in the grate as the weather was so fine there was no need, but at that point Frodo wished it was bitterly chill so Sam would seek the comfort of that fire, and move closer to him. He sighed. Sam's habits were too deeply ingrained for him to forget himself completely, and Frodo would never ask that of him merely to satisfy his own feelings.

Frodo opened the book and scanned the contents.

'What do you fancy, Sam? _How the Oliphaunt Earned his Tusks_? _The Elf Maiden of Lórien_? Or what about _The Orc and the Wizard_?'

'The one about the elf, if you please, Mr Frodo,' Sam enthused. 'Although that one about the Oliphaunt sure does sound good too.'

'The elf maiden it is!' Frodo laughed, pleased at Sam's excited expression. Sometimes he forgot how young Sam was.

He turned to the correct page and began.

'Once there lived among the elven folk of Lothlórien a maiden whose beauty surpassed all others. All who knew her loved her and even Mother Nature herself delighted in the girl's presence.'

Frodo could see Sam edging forwards off his sofa. As Frodo continued, Sam stood up carefully and sat down again on Frodo's sofa in order to better look at the book, still stroking Bramble – who was lying in his arms, blissfully content. What Frodo wouldn't have given to swap places with the cat! He shook his head and continued.

'Her beauty was known throughout all of Middle-Earth. She was the treasure of Lórien, and her name was Nimrodel. She often danced beneath the moon, deep on the golden woods. Her clothes shimmered like dew drops and her hair like stars tumbled free over her shoulders as she danced. One night when she stopped to rest, a mortal man chanced upon her. Struck by the beauty he saw there…'

And as the story continued, so too did Sam's slight movement, until he and Frodo were sitting very close indeed. Frodo felt a tingle in the arm that touched Sam's, and it was all he could do to keep his mind on the words and keep it from travelling elsewhere…

But oh, it was difficult; the slight brush of their arms, the warmth of Sam's skin, the soft honeysuckle smell of Sam's golden hair…

Suddenly Sam shifted next to him, and two things followed.

First, Frodo leaped up into the air as if he had been burnt. Secondly, at Frodo's sharp movement, Bramble took fright and sunk her claws deep into Sam's arm as she let out a hiss.

Sam gasped at the pain and stared down at his now bloody arms as Bramble leapt off and slunk under a chair. Frodo stood, shocked, and when he saw Sam's arms he felt a little lightheaded… woozy, even… he swayed and grabbed a chair to right himself. He had to be strong for Sam, who needed _help_, not his master fainting on him.

'Sam, wait, I – I'll fetch a cloth, stay here!' _As if he's going anywhere._

Frodo rushed to the kitchen and filled a bowl with warm water and grabbed a cloth from the cupboard. He picked them up and carefully carried them back to Sam.


	5. Chapter 5

When he entered, Bramble was licking her fur intently, sitting in shadow under the chair. Frodo knelt down next to Sam and dipped the cloth into the water.

His blue eyes looked up into Sam's earthy green ones. 'This will sting, I'm afraid,' he said softly.

When Sam nodded, he gently dabbed the damp cloth onto his forearm. Sam had closed his eyes in anticipation, but he still gasped as the water came into contact with the cuts. He opened his eyes and glanced at Frodo, who was concentrating on the task at hand. He looked slightly green.

Sam continued to look at Frodo, his eyes roving over Frodo's finely chiselled features, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn't be caught – Frodo was a bit preoccupied. His long, dark lashes framed those sky blue eyes, eyes Sam loved to stare into… Frodo's brow was furrowed, and his tongue poked just out of his mouth as he concentrated.

The sight of his master so made Sam's knees go weak, and if he hadn't been sitting he would surely have fallen.

He shook himself irritably, and this caused the cloth to touch the wounds roughly. Sam sharply inhaled as tears sprang to his eyes.

'Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry! I hurt you! Oh, forgive me-'

'Tis fine sir. My fault,' Sam replied thickly, trying not to show either the pain or the attraction he currently feeling for Frodo right now. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to keep _that_ secret, because just looking at Frodo's eyes and the touch of those beautiful hands was sending ripples through his entire body… Sam felt his breath hitch in his throat. He _really_ wished Frodo would hurry up…

'Please sir,' Sam started boldly, 'if it's not too forward of me, but you don't as look completely well. I know blood don't agree with you sir, so maybe if I finish here and you make tea? Might help with the pain a bit, too, sir,' he continued, playing it up, trying to get Frodo to leave…

'Yes, Sam, you're right… I, uh… I never have liked blood. Silly really, but… tea, yes…' Frodo gratefully dropped the cloth and hurried out.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly finished cleaning up his scratches (much faster than if Frodo had insisted on sticking it out) and was trying to make up with Bramble when Frodo returned with the tea tray.

'Here Sam, I've got something I think you'll like…' Frodo lifted the cloth from the plate and uncovered a large dish. He'd brought 2 good-sized seed-cakes and – fresh strawberries and cream! Sam's heart swelled – his favourite. And Mr Frodo had brought them for him.

He stood and went to join Frodo at the tea table. As he tucked into the strawberries and cream, he tempted Bramble out of her hiding place by waving a fingertip dipped in cream in her direction. She slunk out and sniffed it, then lapped it up delightedly. Sam laughed as her rough pink little longue tickled.

When all was finished, Sam made a move to start work. But Frodo point blank refused to let him.

'I shan't let you out of this smial, Sam, unless you give me your word that you won't do anything too strenuous. You must rest.'

Even as he tried to protest, the tips of Sam's ears pinkened as he thought about how nice it would be _not_ to leave the smial, ever…

All protestation was in vain, however, as Frodo completely ignored any argument Sam put forward and promptly sent him home to let one of his sisters deal with the arm properly. The only sticking point was Bramble.

'I can't rightly take her home with me, Mr Frodo,' Sam reasoned. 'Mari'll have a go at me. She don't much like animals. So sir, Bramble must stay here with you.'

Much as Frodo had to agree, he was loath to accept the decision – he didn't know if he could face up to the challenge in the cat's eyes, which even now glittered unsettlingly at him. He mentally shook himself – she was a tiny kitten. No reason to be scared. Nothing he couldn't handle… Perhaps, if she was anything like her rescuer, some Elvish poetry would be just the thing to soothe her to sleep…

But so it was that Frodo found himself shutting the door after seeing Sam off. He leaned against it, and stared into Bramble's unblinking eyes.

'Well, cat. Looks like it's just you and me now.'


	6. Chapter 6

After saying goodbye to Sam, Frodo returned to the study and flopped into a chair. How had the day turned into the disaster it had been? Well, it hadn't been a _complete_ disaster. Sam was still talking to him, wasn't he?

He sat spread-eagled, his arms hanging out of the chair. It was an hour after midday, and he had already had luncheon. How to fill the rest of the day? Inspiration came to him as he caught sight of the Elvish book, lying forgotten where it had been discarded earlier. He would transcribe it for Sam, so he could have his own copy. He would like that.

Frodo sat up and moved to his desk. He readied several sheets of paper and set the book up in front of him. Cleaning his pen, he scanned the story. It wasn't too long; maybe he would have time to illustrate it with some of Bilbo's special coloured inks. He started to write.

Time passed. The mantel-piece clock ticked on. Bramble slept on the sofa, occasionally stretching and letting out small snorts as she chased dream mice.

Then Frodo came across an interesting passage. It spoke of a love letter sent between two lovers. Perhaps he could copy out the original Elvish as well as the translation. Sam had a good understanding of the language, even if he was not as practised as Frodo. He stretched and stared out of the window. A thought struck Frodo, and he grinned. Dared he…? Sam's face filled his mind; Frodo remembered all the times he'd looked out of this window in the hopes of just watching him. Yes. He dared. Frodo busied himself back with writing.

As it approached dinnertime, Frodo put his pen down and smiled down at his work. He'd done it. He hoped Sam would like it…

His stomach rumbled, and he went to the kitchen and prepared some eggs. He also cut up some slices of ham and gave them to Bramble, who was watching him with interest. Frodo passed the rest of the evening with his pipe, sitting outside and enjoying the mellow evening.

Eventually, Frodo decided to turn in for the night. As he padded softly down the hall to his bedroom, he saw a small cat-shaped shadow follow him, stealthily and silent, out of the corner of his eye. As he got ready for bed, it slipped in through the door, which he had left ajar. He could see her watching him intently, her eyes never leaving him as he moved around the room. Whenever he looked at her, she would instantly look away and begin fastidiously cleaning her paws.

Frodo lay in bed for a while and read, but found he could not concentrate; his eyes were sore from staring so long at the small print. He put the book away and looked at Bramble. This time, she looked at him, and cocked her head to one side.

'You can't stay in here,' he told her. 'I'll make you a bed just outside.'

He collected a few extra blankets stored in the room for when winter had the Shire in its icy grasp, but for now they would serve very well as a cat bed. He opened the door wider and arranged them nicely just outside. He turned back to Bramble, and tried to coax her to the bed by making little kissing noises. She merely looked at him, however. He tried again, but to no avail. Sighing, he walked towards her and picked her up swiftly. She didn't struggle; on the contrary, she began purring loudly and head-butted Frodo's hand. He did not fall for it, however, and placed her gently down in the nest of blankets. As he straightened and made to close the door, she stared at him morosely, and her whiskers appeared to droop. Frodo nearly changed his mind and let her in, but he strengthened his resolve and turned away. He shut the door and climbed into bed.

He lay there awhile, his thoughts just drifting… more often than not to Sam. Just as he felt his eyelids begin to droop, a scratching at the door woke him back up abruptly. Bramble wanted in.

He groaned softly and stood up. He opened the door and she raced in, nearly crashing into his legs, so desperate was she to get inside. She looked up at him with those big doleful eyes. With another sigh, he pulled the blanket pile into the room, and shut the door again. This time she curled up happily and began kneading the fabric with her claws as she turned around in circles to get comfortable. She finally settled down and went to sleep.

Frodo returned to bed as well, his blankets cocooning him and the night breeze coming in through his window played pleasantly over his face. Once again his lids began to feel heavy, and once again he was brought back to his senses – this time by a _thump_, and the slight sinking of his mattress to one side.

Blearily he turned over – and found himself nose to nose with Bramble. Her whiskers were tickling his face.

'I guess you're allowed to sleep here,' he told her sleepily, 'but only because I'm too tired to move you!'

With that she settled happily into the curve of his body. He gently laid an arm around her warm tiny frame. Her fur was so long and soft… He imagined stroking Sam's hair, what that would feel like…and so Frodo fell asleep.

* * *

Sam lay curled up in bed at Number 3. Mari had fixed his arm right up, and although Daisy and May had wanted him to help with some of their chores, seeing as he was home early, he swiftly told them of the promise Mr Frodo had made him give, that he was not to do any work, and milked it for all it was worth. He was not in the mood to hear his sisters nattering on and on about hair ribbons and lace, or what Tom Cotton and all the other handsome hobbits in the East Farthing were up to. So he excused himself as fast as he could after dinner and returned to his room.

He felt so drained. He had done barely anything remotely strenuous or physical, yet he felt as if he'd trampsed through all four Farthings of the Shire and back again. As he lay on his bed, he remembered Mr Frodo's face as he'd tried to clean up the cuts, the greenish tinge to his skin, and Sam laughed softly. It was funny, that Mr Frodo Baggins, so knowledgeable and unafraid of anything (at least in Sam's eyes), was _quite_ so squeamish at a little blood!

As he thought of Mr Frodo, Sam felt a little knot in his stomach tighten. He couldn't pinpoint when exactly the knot had first appeared, but it lay heavy in his stomach at all hours, a constant companion. Every day that Sam looked at Frodo and saw what he couldn't have, the knot tightened ever more. Sam feared that one day, it would become so tight it would consume him, and he would not ever look upon his master's fair features again.

A bittersweet taste was in Sam's mouth, and a tear escaped his eye. Angrily he wiped it away. He would not let himself weep or wallow. He just had to ignore his feelings, his wants and desires, and continue as Frodo's gardener. The pain it brought was matched by the simple joy Sam revelled in when he was with him. And that was all it would ever be.

Gradually, Sam fell asleep, his mind lingering over the touch of Frodo's soft fingers on his arm.


	7. Chapter 7

Early next morning, Sam woke. The birds were twittering and chirping outside his window, and the sun shone brightly again. He rolled out of bed and went to have breakfast. He would set off slightly early today, as he'd have to check up on Bramble before starting work in the garden.

He finished eating and briskly set out from the smial before anyone could question why he was so early. As he passed the spot where he'd found Bramble the day before, he smiled. Yesterday hadn't turned out quite the way he had expected... but it had still been better than most days.

He reached Bag End half an hour before he actually started work. Le let himself in through the kitchen door and started to cook breakfast for Mr Frodo, who by the look of it was still abed. Eggs, tomatoes, some bacon, kettle on the stove and teapot ready… When that was finished, he called Bramble's name. She didn't come, but he heard her little high-pitched meow.

He followed the sound, which appeared to be coming from Mr Frodo's room, and the door was slightly ajar. Realising she was in there, Sam entered and looked around. He was shocked (and, he had to admit, slightly jealous) to find Bramble lying very happily snuggled up against Frodo's chest and the blanket covered in fur.

'Oh, Bramble, no! Silly little thing,' Sam chided fondly, quietly so as not to wake Frodo. He moved towards the bed and made to gently pick the kitten up from the bed, but as he did so, Frodo's hand clutched his arm.

* * *

Frodo heard Sam come into the room. The scent of food accompanied him as the door was opened wider, and his stomach rumbled. He smiled as he heard Sam gently berate Bramble (most probably over the fur on the covers), and as he felt Sam's arm lower down to reach the cat, he grabbed it. To be honest, he wasn't completely sure what he was doing.

He opened his eyes, and saw Sam. Sunlight streaming in through the window reflected off his fair hair, creating a golden halo framing his face. Frodo smiled, and Sam smiled nervously back. Frodo released his arm and sat up. Sam stood back and made as if to run back to the kitchen, but Frodo stopped him.

'Good morning, Samwise,' he said, stifling a laugh. There _was_ a lot of fur on the cover… 'As you can see, our little friend here evidently forgave me enough to grace me with her presence.'

'Aye, sir, she's taken a right shine to you after all,' Sam said fondly.

'Indeed. Wouldn't have let me get a wink of sleep last night if I didn't let her in, would you Bramble? And I confess I was too tired to chase her away!' Frodo said. 'Now I can smell breakfast! I shall be right with you Sam, in just a few moments…'

Nodding, Sam left and shut the door behind him. Frodo's stomach clenched as he thought about what might happen today. Pushing aside the thought, Frodo hastily dressed and went to re-join Sam in the kitchen, calling to Bramble to follow him.

* * *

Sam was outside watering the rose bushes when he heard Frodo come up behind him. He turned. Frodo was holding something behind his back, and his cheeks looked slightly pinker than they had at breakfast.

'Sam, remember when Bilbo taught you your letters? And how we learnt Elvish together, when you were older?'

Sam nodded. Those days were some of the happiest in his life, not that he cared to admit it – some folk thought he was getting ideas above his station, and it wouldn't do to inflame their opinions further by mentioning the fact he preferred to spend time with Frodo than his own family, sometimes.

'Well, I… I made this for you,' Frodo said hurriedly. He handed over a booklet of thick vellum paper, covered in colourful and elegant script. 'It's the story we never finished yesterday. I thought you might like a copy of your own, and…' he trailed off.

Sam smiled. This was one of – no, it was _the_ best gift he'd ever received.

'Why, thank you, Mr Frodo!'

Frodo smiled in reply. He looked at Sam searchingly for a moment, and a slight frown puckered that smooth soft forehead. Then he turned on his heel and walked back inside. Sam got up and placed the booklet deep in his pocket jacket, which he'd left just inside the kitchen door. He'd look at it properly at lunch. Humming cheerfully to himself, he returned to his work in the flowerbeds.

* * *

He'd done it. He'd really done it. It was given, and it couldn't be taken back. Frodo hoped he'd not just made a grievous mistake. To try and take his mind off it, he hurried back and forth between his study and the kitchen, making himself numerous cups of tea. However this didn't help; rather every time he was in the kitchen his eye was drawn through the open door to Sam pottering about in the garden.

Giving up on the tea, he occupied himself by feeding Bramble bits of cold chicken. She ate more than surely it was possible for a cat of her size to manage, but it kept Frodo busy and he was grateful for the distraction. He stroked her, and found himself relaxing. His muscles unclenched and the knot in his stomach loosened slightly. His breathing slowed to a more regular pace. If Sam's reaction was negative, it wouldn't be so bad… he could pack up, go and live with his cousins at Brandy Hall… go and join Bilbo, wherever he was, and see mountains…

Oh, who was he kidding? Sam _was_ his life. If Sam reacted badly, he didn't know if he would be able to bear it.

Lunchtime came and Frodo got out a wheel of mellow cheese and a fresh white loaf for Sam, accompanied by a mug of ale, which was unfortunately rather warm.

He called to Sam through the kitchen door to let him know there was food if he was ready, but quickly absented himself before Sam came in. He berated himself for being such a coward, and tried to think of all the heroes and their daring deeds in all the tales he'd read to try and bolster his courage, but it failed. He felt miserable. He sat at his desk with his head in his hands, hoping to just hide here all day…

* * *

Sam heard Frodo's call and made his way to the kitchen. He saw the food, but no sign of Mr Frodo. He shrugged, and tucked in.

As he ate, he carefully retrieved the booklet and, holding it reverently, began to read. Sam was hooked from the off. It was wonderful, all he could ever want from a story – elves and magic, adventure, fighting, romance… and all written in Frodo's fair, sloping script.

Sam had long since eaten all the food by the time he reached the passage about the letter. He looked at the Elvish form underneath, and frowned. Something wasn't quite right… he peered at it, and quite suddenly he saw it. How could he have missed that? His eyes opened wide, and he sat there, shocked.

Was this really real? He wasn't dreaming, and he hadn't in fact spent too long out in the sun?

Yes, it was certainly real, as he was brought back to his senses by Bramble wrapping herself around his leg and meowing. He stared down at her, still confused and bewildered. The knot in his stomach tightened further, but he felt light-headed all of a sudden, buoyant; he could do anything.

He would have to talk to Mr Frodo.

Frodo still sat with his head in his hands. He could hear Sam eating in the kitchen, then after a while all sound stopped. He wondered if Sam had found it yet.

'Frodo.'

A voice from behind startled him and he jumped, nearly falling out of the chair. He grabbed the table, to hide the trembling of his hands as much as to stop himself falling. He noted the use of his name, without any honorifics.

He began to babble. 'Sam! Was lunch ok? There's, there's more bread if you're still hungry…'

'I'm alright, actually. Thank you.' Sam smiled at him. 'It's not food I wanted to ask about, as such. It's more, I wanted to ask about the story. There was one bit which didn't quite add up…'

'Which bit, Sam?' Frodo whispered hoarsely. He coughed, trying to clear his throat.

Sam knelt down beside him at the desk so their heads were level. Still smiling, Sam placed the manuscript on the desk and took Frodo's hand.

'Tis not a _mistake_ as such, you see, but I thought it needed clarifying…' he moved Frodo's hand across the page, until it hovered above the Elvish script.

'See,' Sam continued, 'I thought it was a letter from Nimrodel to her lover, but it says here, just at the end…'

'…I love you Samwise Gamgee,' Frodo finished for him.

Sam looked at him, and Frodo repeated it, louder this time. 'I love you Samwise Gamgee. I _love_ you Samwise Gamgee! I love you, my dearest, dearest Sam.' Then he stopped and looked at Sam, whose eyes were still fixed on his.

'Right, well that clears things right up…' Sam said softly, leaning in towards Frodo's ear. His breath tickled the sensitive skin, and he pressed his lips to the tip, ever so gently. Frodo jumped and clutched at Sam's shirt.

'Sam, my dear!' he pulled Sam's face close to his and smiled. He leant in and brushed his own lips against Sam, warm from the sun outside, and sweet, so sweet. He pulled away, and then kissed him again, but firmer, more urgently. Sam's hands were caressing his back, burning him, branding him, marking him as Sam's and only Sam's forever.

Sam pulled back and gave a husky laugh. His eyes were darker than usual as he looked into Frodo's.

'I've loved you for many a year, Frodo Baggins. I've seen you every day ever since I can remember, and every time my heart has near exploded with love for you. For my dreams to be coming true…'

Frodo put a finger to Sam's lips.

'I know, Sam. All those years, I have loved you, and thought my life would be spent alone, watching you marry and have a family, and I would be quite forgotten! But now, my dear, _dear_ Sam, we have many more years. Just to _be_…'

He smiled, and Sam smiled back, his eyes dancing. Frodo's heart felt fit to burst.

He leant in again for another kiss, and was ready to lose himself in those soft lips, when he felt a sudden weight on his lap, jolting him forward, and he grabbed onto Sam's broad shoulders to steady himself.

Bramble sat on his lap, purring loudly and looking for all the world as if this were the coming together of all her dreams. One might even have thought she had planned this… She head-butted each of them gently.

'I guess it's 'er we've got to thank, Frodo,' Sam laughed.

'I always said black cats were lucky,' Frodo murmured, watching the sum play on his beloved's face.

'Aye, Frodo…' Sam chuckled. 'But she's black and white.' He stroked back a stray raven curl from Frodo's forehead.

'Who cares about the details?' Frodo dismissed, losing himself once more in the glorious softness of Samwise Gamgee's lips.

_Finis_

* * *

**_A/N: Well, I hope you liked it! This was my first ever fic, so please don't be too harsh! I've been reading a lot of fanfiction recently and decided I wanted to try a bit myself, and this is the result... I know it's a bit cliche, but I wanted something light and cheerful. I'm a big fan of Pre-Quest fluff... (love F/S: my OTP!)  
_**

**_Thank you very much for reading, and please Review!_**


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